Despite how long ago it was he still remembers sleeping elbow-to-elbow in crowded barracks full of exhausted, sweaty men who were lucky to get a shower once a week. Which is to say, the smell doesn't bother him - if anything it reminds him of being young and desperately craving the touch of the men around him.
Only none of them held a candle to Guilliman, and this time he didn't have to hide his desire. He's all wide-eyed admiration as he hands the bottle over, and a satisfied whimper escapes him when he finally feels his lover's touch.
"That was before my time," he says, "But I know what you mean."
His arousal is obvious now, but he leans into it, letting Guilliman work his way across his body.
"I did get to visit the old Roman Colosseum once. Magnificent, it was."
"Tell me of it?" Roboute says as he drags oiled fingers down Terry's sides. His expression is alight with mischievous humor as he strokes up the backs of his thighs, encompassing his waist completely with his hands and so-very-gently pulling him closer.
He knows what he's doing. Teasing. He wants to hear Terry fight to keep his voice steady as he runs oiled hands over his skin. As he raises up a knee, offering one broad thigh for his mortal to straddle.
One hands remains, gently possessive, circled around his side, even as he takes up the strigil and begins to scrape Terry clean with magnificent delicacy.
He is radiant, radiant in his adoration, the full force of a primarch's love and desire focused upon one mortal being.
He hasn't been teased like this since he was young. It's all so overwhelming, having Guilliman so focused on him like this, but he eagerly accepts it. It is, he realizes, not unlike being under Slaanesh's gaze. It's a realization he keeps to himself, though he hopes Guilliman would at least be happy to know that this is much better. Because he loves him, and is loved in return.
"Still in good shape, after so many years. Truly a marvel of architecture. I travelled the world back then. Saw all sorts of incredible sights."
He straddled that massive thigh when offered, leaning in to kiss his jawline.
"But I think this may be the first time I've found what I was really looking for."
Roboute makes a crooning, oh-so-pleased sound, tilting his head back to offer Terry his neck. How marvelous, how precious it is, to have his mortal back in his arms. It makes everything seem worth it.
"This is only the beginning," he promises. A second pass with the strigil would be unnecessary, if he were only interested in getting Terry clean. But as blunt as the blade is, the edge still leaves tender pink lines on the man's skin if he bears down hard enough, and he takes his time enjoying the art of it. Here, now, which of their old games are safe? (And what about in the future? Once Terry's undergone rejuv treatments, healing enhancement, strength enhancement...) Guilliman hums, half-closing his eyes as warm anticipation curls in his belly.
"I am keeping you," he swears, "for as long as it is in my power to."
When the tool is set aside at last, he reaches for the bottle of oil again, and nudges at Terry's hands.
"Assist me," he orders, and offers his body to him.
"My pleasure," he says, planting kisses along Guilliman's neck, "And there is nothing I'd love more, in this world or any other, than to be kept by you."
He oils up and works his hands all across Guilliman's body, kneading his nimble fingers across those firm muscles.
"You're tense, sir," he says, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval as he rubs at a particularly stubborn knot, "I'll just have to take care of that from now on. Wouldn't want you going into battle all stiff."
There's a playful emphasis on stiff as his hands slide close to Guilliman's cock.
Roboute is as radiant as a small sun, as an unknowing god, for his consort. For his centuries of service, Terry is his prize. The primarch purrs as Terry's hands work at his body, offering himself up to this man in a way that uncounted billions, trillions, could never imagine. Does Terry know, truly, how special he is? Guilliman promises himself that he will make sure he understands. Today, and every day from now on.
"An -- unorthodox addition to the armoring rites," he says roughly, clearly holding himself back from pushing up into his mortal's grasp. "But I am. Certain it can be made to work. Ah," he pants, chest heaving. "Terry."
"Oh, sir, you are truly a wonder," he says, basking in the glow of his appreciation as he continues to work his hands all over him.
If Guilliman were just a man, Terry thinks, he'd love him just as much. This is how he'd always wanted to shower love and devotion upon someone who'd be receptive to it. That the one who was finally receptive to it is more god than man is a perk, but Terry doesn't worship gods. He worships men, and he will love Guilliman as a man, without knowing that might be just what he needed.
"I shouldn't spoil you too much before we even get wet," he says, "But you do bring out my doting side."
"No? Shouldn't you?" His voice is full of hunger and humor both. There is a part of him that is tempted to plead, just as there is another part that wants to take.
Neither, however, are stronger than his sense of propriety, and of the bathhouse etiquette he's already leaving in absolute shambles.
He reaches out to pull Terry closer, sliding his hands up the full length of his thighs, his rear, his back, leaning down to kiss him once more. Then releasing him (oh, alright, after one last squeeze), and purring, "Then hand me the strigil, treasure. I'll see this done and we can retire to the pool for as long as you can stand."
"If I do, I fear we'll never make it to the bath."
And the way he's touched just confirms his suspicions. Not that it would be the worst thing to happen, if they just made love right here, but his joints are aching and the hot water seems so soothing.
"Here you are, my love," he says, handing the strigil over, smiling coyly, "As long as I can stand, hm? That's a lofty promise."
"You think to test me?" he shoots back, raising a brow. These teasing, playful challenges, back and forth. A feeling he has missed dearly since his return to his home reality. To be treated like a man. Loved like a man.
He hurries with the strigil, admittedly. Quick, rough strokes, treatment that would leave him in quite a lot of pain if he were mortal. But every second shorn from this part of the bathing ritual is a second closer to joining his lover in the waters that wait for them, and he wants, he wants, he wants.
"Go," he growls as he rises to his feet. "I follow behind."
His last few hygienic steps mean that Terry has enough time get into the water, maybe start to relax in the pleasant heat, before Roboute comes up from behind, stepping down into the pool with a speed and a silence and a stillness of the water's surface that is more than a little terrifying. And then he rounds on Terry, pushing him up against the side of the pool, pressing as close, skin flush against skin, as he safely can.
"Yes sir," he says, dragging his fingertips down Guilliman's arm before he leaves as if he needs to savor every last second of touch that he can.
He sinks into the warm water, in his element at last. He leans back, eyes closed, and exhales. With his guard down, Guilliman can easily sneak up on him, and he gasps as he's shoved against the side of the pool.
Now, this is a side of Guilliman he wants to see more often. Terry's prior relationships have leaned towards one-sided, with his own passions far exceeding that of his partner. How nice it is to be desired, to see someone so possessive over him, to have his affections reciprocated instead of having to beg for it.
"Yes," he says, cheeks flushed, kissing his collarbone, "Oh, yes. I'm all yours. Only yours."
He thought he'd never see him again. This one good thing, this one thing of his own, and he up and left it like the duty-bound fool that he is. But Terry -- a mere mortal, and still able to work miracles that Roboute couldn't -- braved the Void and the Warp to find him.
He won't make that mistake again, he tells himself. He has lost so much, he has regretted so much. Throne help anyone and anything that thinks they can take Terry from him now that he had him back. The ruinous powers, the Imperium, his own damned Father.
It would damn them both to speak those words, and so he does not. He hopes his devotion comes across instead in his touch, in the heat of his skin, in the beat of his hearts. And in the words he can say.
"And I am yours," he rumbles.
His hands wrap around Terry's hips, and he lifts out of the water, uncaring of the wave he sends across the tile as he sets him down on the edge of the pool.
"My Silver. My treasure." He leans in to kiss him, and then -- gently pushes Terry backwards, and his thighs apart and up. He smiles, eager and shy at once.
Terry's perceptive, and has distant memories of that dream he shared. He'll have to be careful with how he speaks here, especially when others are watching but even if they aren't. That's alright. He can read between the lines and he has no doubt that Guilliman loves him, even if he doesn't comprehend the full extent of it.
He almost protests when he's lifted out of the water, the air cool against his wet skin, but he trusts Guilliman and wants to see what his lover has in store for him.
(Treasure - he loved that name. How many people had ever associated him with something so precious before? Not many.)
"Anything," he says, his voice shaky. How delightful it is to be here, exposed and dripping wet in front of the man he loves. "Anything for you."
Guilliman hums, delighting in Terry's surrender, in the long planes of his body offered up to to him. He knows what he wants. What he wants to have with Terry, that he had not had before. Without further talk, he sinks down into the water, still holding Terry's legs up -- and then rises again, so that they are bracketed around either side of his head.
He gives Terry a moment to register what this is. Smiling once more, until he bends his head down, licks a long, hot stripe along the crease of Terry's thigh, then matches it on the other side.
"I've never done this before," he tells him, forehead pressed to his stomach, breath hot between his legs. Not that he thinks it will be difficult, per se -- but he expects Terry will enjoy knowing how singular he is. That his will be the only cock Roboute has ever sucked.
He sinks down further, mouth ready, open. Their proportions do make it marvelously easy to take Terry's prick, to let his tongue still loll out to tease his balls as he does.
This isn't something he ever thought to ask for from Guilliman. Although he likes to think he's more progressive than a lot of men his age, he's not immune to certain arbitrary rules in relationships, either. When he submits to someone, he services them in this way but doesn't expect it in turn. When someone submits to him, it's the opposite.
But Guilliman - wonderful, perfect Guilliman - is taking care of him like this. Enthusiastically so.
"Oh," he moans, back arched, cock easily getting hard as his lover's tongue works it over, "Yes, please, keep going."
To know that he's the only one to receive this privilege is a delight in itself. Whatever relations Guilliman had in that other world don't concern him, he was hardly monogamous there himself, but he's elated to know that this belongs to him and him alone.
Guilliman learned much in that other world, that strange realm that brought them together. He learned that he could be very nearly a human being, when treated like a human being. He learned that, yes, he did have the same monstrous appetites as some of his brothers, but that they were within his control. And he learned that sexually, he is just as versatile as he is in any other sense. Men and women, dominating and submitting. He doesn't know if he could ever get Terry to dominate him, but that's alright. He still loves him. He will still give him everything. Every privilege. Every pleasure.
His omophagea has never been well-developed, and it was never something he wanted to practice refining -- but here and now, Terry's sweat and his pre-come on his tongue taste of secondhand pleasure, of a love that he will never tire of. They taste of Terry.
He imitates what he has experienced, and what seems like it would be enjoyable. Long strokes of his tongue and gentle suction, bringing his mortal close to the edge and then tightening his grip on his hips, holding Terry down as he eases his ministrations. Teasing, once again. Wanting to see how far he can push his lover. They have all night. They have forever.
"You are - very good at this, my love," he says, panting and moaning with each breath he takes.
He knows a challenge when he sees one, and no words need to be spoken. He won't climax until Guilliman allows it, until he stops pulling back. He'll be strong and he'll hold out, as much as he's craving. There's nothing he wants more than to be a worthy partner, even if - for once - he's confident that his lover isn't looking to shame him for his failures.
Roboute can't answer with his mouth full, but there is a flicker of blue as he glances up at Terry, eyes crinkling in a smile.
Closing his eyes, he lets himself sink into focusing on Terry's reactions, his breathing and the pulse of blood as he traces a thick vein with his tongue. The sounds he makes, the smell and taste of him. The tug and pull of their shared desire. He could lose himself in this if he let himself, he thinks, just like a set of data to be analyzed or the care of a masterwork weapon. But not now.
He presses close, his patrician nose pressing up against Terry's bellybutton, his hands grasping his hips gently but as solid as iron. He redoubles his efforts, with teasing now forgotten.
He holds out as long as he can, savoring this moment, this closeness he feared he'd never have again. If he lost Guilliman, that was it. He could fall in love twice, especially after his first lover rejected him so cruelly. But three times? No, not while he was so certain that he had already met his soulmate.
At last he gives in, thighs tensing as he hits his climax with a loud moan before collapsing into a heap on the cold tile.
"Oh, I - " he says, breathing heavily as he attempts to compose himself, "I've never felt so incredible."
Guilliman pulls back slowly, savoring the taste of Terry's spend and the omophageal feedback it carries. His eyes burn with hunger.
"Good. Because that will not be the last time I do that." He surges forward, looming over Terry for a moment, like some great beast, before swooping down to claim his lips. He draws back to allow him breath, then kisses him again, again. There will be no post-coital respite for Terry just yet.
"I would like to use your thighs," Roboute purrs, then licks at Terry's neck. "My treasure. If you can put both of your legs over one of my shoulders, I can still face you."
"Of course," he says between kisses, swinging his legs over one of Roboute's shoulders with a grunt.
His hips and his knees are aching, but he values that just as much as anything else. It makes him certain that this isn't some cruel dream, and he really is here, impossibly, in another world with the man he loves.
"I'll be at your beck and call," he hums, still basking in the afterglow of his climax, "Nothing would please me more."
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no subject
Only none of them held a candle to Guilliman, and this time he didn't have to hide his desire. He's all wide-eyed admiration as he hands the bottle over, and a satisfied whimper escapes him when he finally feels his lover's touch.
"That was before my time," he says, "But I know what you mean."
His arousal is obvious now, but he leans into it, letting Guilliman work his way across his body.
"I did get to visit the old Roman Colosseum once. Magnificent, it was."
no subject
He knows what he's doing. Teasing. He wants to hear Terry fight to keep his voice steady as he runs oiled hands over his skin. As he raises up a knee, offering one broad thigh for his mortal to straddle.
One hands remains, gently possessive, circled around his side, even as he takes up the strigil and begins to scrape Terry clean with magnificent delicacy.
He is radiant, radiant in his adoration, the full force of a primarch's love and desire focused upon one mortal being.
no subject
He hasn't been teased like this since he was young. It's all so overwhelming, having Guilliman so focused on him like this, but he eagerly accepts it. It is, he realizes, not unlike being under Slaanesh's gaze. It's a realization he keeps to himself, though he hopes Guilliman would at least be happy to know that this is much better. Because he loves him, and is loved in return.
"Still in good shape, after so many years. Truly a marvel of architecture. I travelled the world back then. Saw all sorts of incredible sights."
He straddled that massive thigh when offered, leaning in to kiss his jawline.
"But I think this may be the first time I've found what I was really looking for."
no subject
"This is only the beginning," he promises. A second pass with the strigil would be unnecessary, if he were only interested in getting Terry clean. But as blunt as the blade is, the edge still leaves tender pink lines on the man's skin if he bears down hard enough, and he takes his time enjoying the art of it. Here, now, which of their old games are safe? (And what about in the future? Once Terry's undergone rejuv treatments, healing enhancement, strength enhancement...) Guilliman hums, half-closing his eyes as warm anticipation curls in his belly.
"I am keeping you," he swears, "for as long as it is in my power to."
When the tool is set aside at last, he reaches for the bottle of oil again, and nudges at Terry's hands.
"Assist me," he orders, and offers his body to him.
no subject
He oils up and works his hands all across Guilliman's body, kneading his nimble fingers across those firm muscles.
"You're tense, sir," he says, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval as he rubs at a particularly stubborn knot, "I'll just have to take care of that from now on. Wouldn't want you going into battle all stiff."
There's a playful emphasis on stiff as his hands slide close to Guilliman's cock.
no subject
"An -- unorthodox addition to the armoring rites," he says roughly, clearly holding himself back from pushing up into his mortal's grasp. "But I am. Certain it can be made to work. Ah," he pants, chest heaving. "Terry."
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If Guilliman were just a man, Terry thinks, he'd love him just as much. This is how he'd always wanted to shower love and devotion upon someone who'd be receptive to it. That the one who was finally receptive to it is more god than man is a perk, but Terry doesn't worship gods. He worships men, and he will love Guilliman as a man, without knowing that might be just what he needed.
"I shouldn't spoil you too much before we even get wet," he says, "But you do bring out my doting side."
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Neither, however, are stronger than his sense of propriety, and of the bathhouse etiquette he's already leaving in absolute shambles.
He reaches out to pull Terry closer, sliding his hands up the full length of his thighs, his rear, his back, leaning down to kiss him once more. Then releasing him (oh, alright, after one last squeeze), and purring, "Then hand me the strigil, treasure. I'll see this done and we can retire to the pool for as long as you can stand."
no subject
And the way he's touched just confirms his suspicions. Not that it would be the worst thing to happen, if they just made love right here, but his joints are aching and the hot water seems so soothing.
"Here you are, my love," he says, handing the strigil over, smiling coyly, "As long as I can stand, hm? That's a lofty promise."
no subject
He hurries with the strigil, admittedly. Quick, rough strokes, treatment that would leave him in quite a lot of pain if he were mortal. But every second shorn from this part of the bathing ritual is a second closer to joining his lover in the waters that wait for them, and he wants, he wants, he wants.
"Go," he growls as he rises to his feet. "I follow behind."
His last few hygienic steps mean that Terry has enough time get into the water, maybe start to relax in the pleasant heat, before Roboute comes up from behind, stepping down into the pool with a speed and a silence and a stillness of the water's surface that is more than a little terrifying. And then he rounds on Terry, pushing him up against the side of the pool, pressing as close, skin flush against skin, as he safely can.
"Mine."
no subject
He sinks into the warm water, in his element at last. He leans back, eyes closed, and exhales. With his guard down, Guilliman can easily sneak up on him, and he gasps as he's shoved against the side of the pool.
Now, this is a side of Guilliman he wants to see more often. Terry's prior relationships have leaned towards one-sided, with his own passions far exceeding that of his partner. How nice it is to be desired, to see someone so possessive over him, to have his affections reciprocated instead of having to beg for it.
"Yes," he says, cheeks flushed, kissing his collarbone, "Oh, yes. I'm all yours. Only yours."
no subject
He won't make that mistake again, he tells himself. He has lost so much, he has regretted so much. Throne help anyone and anything that thinks they can take Terry from him now that he had him back. The ruinous powers, the Imperium, his own damned Father.
It would damn them both to speak those words, and so he does not. He hopes his devotion comes across instead in his touch, in the heat of his skin, in the beat of his hearts. And in the words he can say.
"And I am yours," he rumbles.
His hands wrap around Terry's hips, and he lifts out of the water, uncaring of the wave he sends across the tile as he sets him down on the edge of the pool.
"My Silver. My treasure." He leans in to kiss him, and then -- gently pushes Terry backwards, and his thighs apart and up. He smiles, eager and shy at once.
"I would like to try something."
no subject
He almost protests when he's lifted out of the water, the air cool against his wet skin, but he trusts Guilliman and wants to see what his lover has in store for him.
(Treasure - he loved that name. How many people had ever associated him with something so precious before? Not many.)
"Anything," he says, his voice shaky. How delightful it is to be here, exposed and dripping wet in front of the man he loves. "Anything for you."
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He gives Terry a moment to register what this is. Smiling once more, until he bends his head down, licks a long, hot stripe along the crease of Terry's thigh, then matches it on the other side.
"I've never done this before," he tells him, forehead pressed to his stomach, breath hot between his legs. Not that he thinks it will be difficult, per se -- but he expects Terry will enjoy knowing how singular he is. That his will be the only cock Roboute has ever sucked.
He sinks down further, mouth ready, open. Their proportions do make it marvelously easy to take Terry's prick, to let his tongue still loll out to tease his balls as he does.
no subject
But Guilliman - wonderful, perfect Guilliman - is taking care of him like this. Enthusiastically so.
"Oh," he moans, back arched, cock easily getting hard as his lover's tongue works it over, "Yes, please, keep going."
To know that he's the only one to receive this privilege is a delight in itself. Whatever relations Guilliman had in that other world don't concern him, he was hardly monogamous there himself, but he's elated to know that this belongs to him and him alone.
no subject
His omophagea has never been well-developed, and it was never something he wanted to practice refining -- but here and now, Terry's sweat and his pre-come on his tongue taste of secondhand pleasure, of a love that he will never tire of. They taste of Terry.
He imitates what he has experienced, and what seems like it would be enjoyable. Long strokes of his tongue and gentle suction, bringing his mortal close to the edge and then tightening his grip on his hips, holding Terry down as he eases his ministrations. Teasing, once again. Wanting to see how far he can push his lover. They have all night. They have forever.
no subject
He knows a challenge when he sees one, and no words need to be spoken. He won't climax until Guilliman allows it, until he stops pulling back. He'll be strong and he'll hold out, as much as he's craving. There's nothing he wants more than to be a worthy partner, even if - for once - he's confident that his lover isn't looking to shame him for his failures.
no subject
Closing his eyes, he lets himself sink into focusing on Terry's reactions, his breathing and the pulse of blood as he traces a thick vein with his tongue. The sounds he makes, the smell and taste of him. The tug and pull of their shared desire. He could lose himself in this if he let himself, he thinks, just like a set of data to be analyzed or the care of a masterwork weapon. But not now.
He presses close, his patrician nose pressing up against Terry's bellybutton, his hands grasping his hips gently but as solid as iron. He redoubles his efforts, with teasing now forgotten.
no subject
At last he gives in, thighs tensing as he hits his climax with a loud moan before collapsing into a heap on the cold tile.
"Oh, I - " he says, breathing heavily as he attempts to compose himself, "I've never felt so incredible."
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"Good. Because that will not be the last time I do that." He surges forward, looming over Terry for a moment, like some great beast, before swooping down to claim his lips. He draws back to allow him breath, then kisses him again, again. There will be no post-coital respite for Terry just yet.
"I would like to use your thighs," Roboute purrs, then licks at Terry's neck. "My treasure. If you can put both of your legs over one of my shoulders, I can still face you."
no subject
His hips and his knees are aching, but he values that just as much as anything else. It makes him certain that this isn't some cruel dream, and he really is here, impossibly, in another world with the man he loves.
"I'll be at your beck and call," he hums, still basking in the afterglow of his climax, "Nothing would please me more."