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Xantine absolutely did not want to admit that everyone else had been right, and that Torachon was absolutely and totally devoted to him, and that even the barest bit of attention had him chaining himself to his leader all the tighter.
The first bit of (unenthusiastic) praise Xantine had offered for a job well done had Torachon’s violet eyes welling up with emotion and a huge beam on his face. He could feel more than hear S’janth’s laughter at this.
My love, surely you too can surely taste what effect those little words had on this simpleton? S’janth said to him.
Rather than speak aloud, he reluctantly acknowledged in his mind that, yes, he could taste it, even if he didn’t have working eyes.
The worst part was that it really made a difference for Torachon’s performance. He was always annoyingly competent, if an idiot, and he only obeyed with greater enthusiasm, taking greater care to go above and beyond Xantine’s expectations in all his duties. So, Xantine continued, too, with offering scraps of praise. All of it was consumed as though Torachon were starving for it. And it was amusing to keep him on the edge and waiting for more, but the first time that Xantine blindsided him with something bigger and more genuine, Torachon was rendered speechless.
Xantine felt amusement, his and S’janth’s, tickle at his mind, as he let the silence drag for another moment, before he drawled out, “Though, of course, if you are too busy for a private dinner…?”
“No! No, my Lord, never!” Torachon said, too quickly, still clearly starstruck.
As expected. Xantine had the best that the planet could offer already prepared in a meal of many courses, and had even broken out some of the best liquors and other intoxicants that were in his own stores, even if it was to spare his own tastebuds something lesser. “Very good,” Xantine said, offering a sharp smile. “Here, do make sure you are dressed for the occasion, won’t you?”
Torachon nodded dumbly, taking the bundle of fabric and jewelry from Xantine and trailing after him. The tables were set up on a balcony overlooking the city, candles and incense already lit and creating a delicate ambience as the sun was setting. The servants and slaves had made themselves scarce after setting the first course, and Xantine sat himself down as he motioned for his subordinate to change himself. Xantine, of course, remained in his own power armour.
Shamelessness was to be expected, but Torachon seemed less shameless and more innocent in how careless he was as he unlatched his power armour, exposing his long, pale limbs. He was proportionally large in every regard, easily visible in the body glove under the armour, but still looked more like a statue than a living legionnaire with how blemishless he was. Blemishless, and perfect, with his long white hair falling down his back and tracing the long lines of his muscles. But, a little too perfect, in how he looked like their father. A beautiful doll, one that had a somewhat vacant if gorgeous face. That his expressions were so much more placid than their father made him look a more imperfect copy, more doll than man, albeit a transhuman one.
And here he was, acting the perfect doll still, dressing himself in a set of imperial purple robes that when they didn’t catch the candlelight and glitter like an opal, were entirely sheer. The little pieces of jewelry were the perfect final ornaments, shining in the sunset. Truly, the likeness to Fulgrim was uncanny.
“One last piece,” Xantine said, standing up and beckoning Torachon down by crooking a finger. Someone with their father’s face should not be so obedient, but that he was sent a sensual thrill through Xantine. He easily fashioned a golden choker around Torachon’s neck.
And when he stepped back, Torachon remained still, alternating between blinking at him and looking down to take in his own appearance.
“Beautiful,” Xantine said.
He would never admit to anyone how much seeing that face smile with so much untempered delight at him made him feel. (Oh, who wouldn’t want your father to look at them like that! So beautiful, and I am sure you will understand me saying that he is a jewel amongst even your folk, S’janth purred in his mind. He told her to fuck off. She just laughed.)
To distract from the feeling pooling in his abdomen, Xantine had Torachon sit down and begin their meal together. He plied them both with drinks to begin, having already planned out an accompanying drug or stimm for each forthcoming course to complement the taste, texture, and consumption of the meal. Maybe it was the ambience he himself had set, or the slow crescendo of intoxicants over the course of the meal, but Xantine found his subordinate better company and conversation now than he ever had before. Sure, they had never spent time together before like this, and he had only ever sent Torachon onto missions or used him to back his own plans in councils, but if Torachon was such pleasing company as this, then he should have shown it sooner.
“I would be honoured to hear your thoughts, but I fear I have yet to incorporate what you’ve spoken about in your last lecture into my own paintings. I need to think more about all that theory. I’d never really thought it before,” Torachon said. His pale face was pleasantly flushed in a beautiful pink that perfectly complemented the dregs of the sunset.
“Come now, what sort of lord would I be if I didn’t take an interest in your work? And besides, the art of my brothers has always been far more exquisite than what any other being could even dream to make!”
To miss how Torachon lit up even further at that, Xantine would have had to be blind or an idiot. “Really?”
Xantine nodded as he took a deep breath of the latest batch of incense. He swirled his goblet, the liquids inside bearing the hue of an oil slick more than any wine. “Of course! It is my duty after all to make sure that you are guided on your path to perfecting your arts.”
“I am terribly honoured. I… you’ve been too good to me, my lord, I never…” Torachon shook his head. “I know with all the others, and our muse, and of course with Lady S’janth, not that you are her guide but that you still spend time with her, and not to mention the whole planet of course, that you have so many that you shepherd and help, but I am still terribly honoured.”
“Of course you are. That is why you are here.” Xantine took a long sip from his drink, realising a little belatedly he had finished it, so moving to top up both their goblets. “If such a boon is something you wish, what leader would I be if I did not grant it?”
“Then… you wouldn’t mind if I did ask for something?”
“Was there something else you’d rather ask of me?” Xantine said, not answering the question, but a little curious what desires that Torachin held under his general desire to please others.
With the eagerness of an ingénue, Torachon nodded. It seemed that he wasn’t playing the coyness up and he really did show his relative inexperience as a new creation of the Clonelord, since he immediately asked, “May I kiss you?”
Xantine had his goblet half raised to his mouth and he paused, not sure he had heard right.
“Only if Lady S’janth doesn’t mind, of course,” Torachon added quickly.
“She is not the master of my actions.” Xantine abruptly drained the rest of his goblet before casting it aside and standing, stalking more than walking across the table to stand before his subordinate. Any comments from S’janth he ignored as he reached forward to grasp Torachon’s chin. His eyes were wide as Xantine met them, before bending forward to kiss him.
He saw as Torachon’s eyes fluttered closed. He wasn’t sure whether he preferred seeing the violet or the long white lashes against the still pinkened cheeks. As he deepened the kiss, licking a little at the seam of Torachon’s lips, he could taste a bit of tart fruit and burned honey with the last drinks they’d both been having.
And when Xantine pulled back, feeling a little smug with himself, he realised that Torachon’s hands had come to rest on his waist. He was a generous lord and would forgive that, especially in fulfilling such a request.
“Was that to your satisfaction?” Xantine said.
“Oh, yes,” Torachon said, smiling as his eyes opened back up, “and, may I kiss you, too?”
That doll-like beauty staring at him with such undisguised desire was certainly having its own effect on Xantine. “It seems as though you’ve been thinking about this for a while. Is that all you’ve been hoping for?”
“No, but I do not wish to presume…”
“Did I not ask you here this evening to indulge such a loyal soldier, such a strong warrior? This is not a time to withhold your desires.”
The hands on Xantine’s still armoured waist tugged him forward at that, and he tilted his head so Torachon could kiss him this time, letting his subordinate take the lead as it seemed he wanted. Just as there was insatiable enthusiasm when he fought, so too was there when Torachon kissed. There was no seduction, no play at courtliness, just tasting and biting and enjoying the sensation. It was always a delight to kiss someone new. Xantine let himself get lost in the sensations and in how deep Torachon was tasting him.
It was only fair that he get his hands in Torachon’s hair, which was as beautifully soft and silky as he always imagined their father’s to be. Just feeling and petting the strands was a delicious sensation, as was running his fingers down Torachon’s neck to feel the choker and where his pulse was.
And when Torachon pulled away, he seemed to give Xantine a brief glance, as if double checking he meant in truth that any wants would be indulged. Xantine smiled back, letting his grin sharpen to something far less beatific than the looks his subordinate wore.
“I don’t want to damage your armour, my lord,” Torachon said, even as he had leaned forward again to try his damndest to leave marks along Xantine’s neck.
Between the attention to his neck and one of Torachon’s hands that had gotten into his dark hair and was now tugging, Xantine was finding himself getting more and more carried away by Torachon’s lust. Torachon was so willing to worship him as he deserved, and with that face, too? Xantine was already hard and leaking.
“Then don’t,” Xantine hissed out. “You will take care with it.”
He felt Torachon’s murmured assent against his neck even as more attention was lavished against his flesh.
Torachon was as quick as he could be whilst still being careful. From the flush and the robes that hid very little, it was more than evident that he was already eager for more from just these first tastes. And as he removed Xantine’s armour, he pressed more kisses where each piece was removed from, before peeling away the body glove, too. Xantine had a few charms and trinkets he enjoyed tucked away inside the armour, with a few of those being little posies to offer a fresher perfume to himself. His subordinate certainly seemed to enjoy it, but he was enjoying all of this.
When Xantine finally stood bared to Torachon, the younger legionnaire seemed unable to decide whether to take him in or continue lavishing attention on him. Xantine knew he was beautiful, even amongst their brothers all known for it, but he still preened a little under a look so overly filled with desire.
“Now,” Xantine said, reaching to pluck up Torachon’s goblet, offering him a sip before he finished it, “don’t tell me that all you wanted to do was gaze upon me?”
“You’re so beautiful, my lord,” Torachon said, voice breathy.
Xantine smiled further, and curled a strand of white hair around one of his fingers. “You’re quite pretty yourself. But my bed chamber is just through that way.”
Torachon didn’t need further encouragement. The various clothes spilling from trunks and wardrobes, the endless vials of scents, the veritable armoury with the sheer number of swords scattered about, and other hoarded trinkets still didn’t take up as much space as the massive bed. It was curtained with delicate gauze, made up with rich silk sheets, and heaped with pillows and comforters.
It was so easy to lean back and relax into how eager Torachon was to worship him. Xantine let himself lounge backwards on the silks, enjoying the large hands that took their time exploring his bare skin, just feeling the scars from ten thousand years of war and where any sensitivities might be. That the hands looked as they did only made Xantine wonder why he hadn’t done this sooner. Torachon’s fingers were longer than his own, larger too, with well-manicured nails. (That was how the hands that they were modeled from always looked in memory, though the last years before their father’s ascension, they had been torn and bloody with any paint chipped even as they were wrapped around the hilt of that sword.) His touches were gentle at first, then more insistent, especially when he used his mouth, still putting all of his enthusiasm in to leaving marks that would last a few moments longer.
Xantine made sure that Torachon knew when he especially liked something, doling out praise and petting his white hair and saying how pretty he still looked coming here to offer worship. It was easy to see how aroused Torachon was, wet enough that there was a stain on the sheer robes.
He preferred to be the one whose words were affecting Torachon instead of being lost to the sensations. He preferred that, and surely with how devoted Torachon was, he was still the one who was enticing his subordinate onward. He was shuddering from the sensation of his neck being bitten hard enough to draw blood as a pair of fingers twisted inside of him to briefly prepare him.
It took him an embarrassingly long moment to realise that Torachon had said something.
“Speak clearly,” he slurred out.
The smile that got from Torachon was still guileless, even if it was hungry. “I was just making sure that wasn’t too fast for you, my lord.”
Xantine scoffed. “Who do you take me for? Do you know how many victories there are to my name after so many millenium of slaughter? I am your lord, not some soft mortal--”
Xantine cut himself off with a moan, unable to swallow it since his mouth was already open. Really, Torachon cut him off, it was his fault since he had taken this as invitation to withdraw his fingers, toss his useless robe off in one smooth motion, and line his cock up to Xantine’s entrance. At least he was finally taking some initiative and chasing delight, even if he should have waited for Xantine to finish speaking.
Torachon was massive. He had seen that from the clear arousal under the robes, but even for the different shapes that an astartes cock -- especially a chaos legionnaire's -- could have unique mutations just as the rest of the man might, bringing with it strange shapes or spikes or what-have-you. There was none of that with Torachon, just the massive size that Xantine felt with every additional press into him.
He heard a low, throaty, delighted laugh that he took too long to realise was in his own head. Whatever S’janth was saying, he couldn’t focus on her words as Torachon began to move. Xantine opened his mouth again to speak, but was unable to form words, just letting out another whorish moan.
He let his legs fall open further, giving Torachon more space which he took, still running his hands all over Xantine. Torachon’s pale face and chest were flushed, a few strands of hair falling askew. His violet gaze was weighty as it moved along Xantine below him.
Xantine let his head settle back further, attempting to get used to the stretch. How visible the bulge in his muscled abdomen was at least explained why he was struggling to get used to Torachon. Perhaps he should’ve allowed more preparation, but the pain and pleasure mingling together was delicious.
“Right there,” Xantine hissed out, hooking one of his legs around Torachon to encourage him. His eyes were half lidded, and he felt his body shudder as Torachon turned all his enthusiasm into fucking him right there as ordered, and harder.
“You feel so perfect, my lord,” Torachon said, sounding a lot like he did when in combat. “You’re so beautiful, this is an honour above all others!”
That made him grin sharply, those words and continued obedience enough to bring him just to the edge. “Ye-e-es, harder, Torachon. You’re doing so well!”
And he obeyed so well. It was barely another moment before Xantine found himself cumming, spilling over his own stomach.
Torachon just kept fucking him through it, chasing his own pleasure still, but gazing down with naked desire even with his cock still hard and in Xantine. Words truly had escaped him, and Xantine let himself fall back into this, just enjoying this moment.
When he had ceased shuddering, Torachon paused for a brief moment, dipping his fingers to the mess Xantine had made, raising them to his own mouth. Xantine’s open mouth curled up in another grin as he watched, and he let out another gasp when Torachon reached down to fondle his spent cock. Their improved physiology meant he was already half-hard, even if the pleasure was still sending little shudders through him.
But abruptly, Torachon pulled out of him. Xantine felt empty for only a brief moment, as he was flipped face down into the silk and pillows, before Torachon pulled his arse up, forcing Xantine’s back into a dramatic arch before he fucked back into him all at once. Torachon’s tight grip on his hips was pulling him back even as he fucked in and out, bouncing him back on his cock even as Xantine’s face was pressed further into the bedding. He was shuddering from overstimulation, unable to press back into or away from Torachon, even if he knew which he wanted.
It was only like this, after being empty for a moment, that his fucked-out mind could notice how full already he was feeling. Torachon was leaking enough that it felt like he had already cum, enough that it was leaking down on Xantine’s thighs. He felt sweaty and sticky, with a few traces of his own blood along his neck and collar where his subordinate had been quite enthusiastic. His mouth was open and he was gasping, unable to talk, unable to close his mouth and so getting drool onto the pillows.
“Tor…” Xantine began, between moans.
Rather than the impending protest at being so manhandled, Torachon seemed to take that as an invitation to just fuck him harder. Xantine almost screamed as Torachon got a hand in his hair, using it as reins to pull him back all the harder.
It didn’t take long for Xantine to cum all over himself a second time like that. His eyes were rolled back, hearing further sounds and murmured adoration from Torachon, and S’janth whispering something incomprehensible. It was too much in a way he hadn’t expected from Torachon, which was a delight.
And when he felt Torachon find his own release, he was left feeling even more bloated, and with the cock in him still just as hard. His subordinate didn’t even need to take a moment to catch his breath, just fucking right back into him as hard as before.
Xantine didn’t even know what he was saying, if he was saying anything. He was undoubtedly a mess, and when Torachon pulled out and got him onto his back again, it seemed so that he could kiss him again, since he wasted no time in claiming Xantine’s mouth. Through half-lidded eyes and the overwhelming haze of pleasure, the white hair and jewelry were more distinct than the precise features. Further words became clearer, as Torachon was saying how beautiful he was again and something about each precise strand of black hair. But that initial hazed delight of such words from someone who, so lost to sensation as Xantine was, looked so like their father in this moment, only made him moan and gasp under the attention. He spread his legs further, hooking his own ankles around Torachon’s back to encourage him to take whatever he wished.
Torachon’s words were lost again as he kissed Xantine again, shoving his tongue as far back his throat as it could go. He was touching Xantine everywhere, tracing his muscles and feeling the bulge in his abdomen and twisting at his nipples, even as he kept fucking him, harder and harder. Truly, his stamina seemed without end. There wasn’t much to do for Xantine but let himself get so wholly overwhelmed in Torachon’s enthusiasm.
He stopped counting how many times either of them came, just letting Torachon use him to get off, leaving him a mess inside and out when his subordinate had finally wrung as much pleasure from them as he physically could, and laid next to him on the ruined bed. Torachon still was turned towards Xantine, curled around him, and Xantine was still enjoying the long white strands of hair, as they both took a moment to catch their breath.
“Not bad for a first attempt,” Xantine said, as he twisted some of Torachon’s hair into a curl.
Torachon lit up a little at his words. “Oh, my lord, I--”
“Of course,” Xantine interrupted, “you’ll have to do something to impress me first, before I even think of taking you to bed again.”
“Yes, my lord! Oh, I’ll be sure to! If there is some task you need doing, a quest even, I would be glad to slaughter whatever needs killing, seek whatever you need, or…” He trailed off, but with a dopey smile, as Xantine couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yes, yes, your enthusiasm knows no bounds," Xantine drawled. "I will find some use for you. For now, get me another drink, will you? And after that, we’ll see how I feel about giving you another chance to practice before dawn comes.”