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Lucrece, Cyprea and Athyrea listened in rapt attention, their pastel dresses bunched about them as they sat on their small benches. As usual, Lucrece had claimed the gilded little divan for her own. They had pulled the child-sized furniture around where the Emperor sat, reading a tale to them from a particularly ancient looking tome. This time it appeared to be about a princess with such beautiful hair that knights would come sing serenades about it, and that it was so long it fell all the way down from the high tower she lived in.
Lucrece said something and tossed her long white hair across her shoulder with a royal flair. Cyprea chuckled and an endearing look briefly softened the Emperor's stern features. Fulgrim smiled as he observed them from across the reading room, his long frame reclining in the ornate windowsill.
“Hm, Athyrea never likes it when I read to her.”
Fulgrim glanced sideways and up at Horus as his brother came to stand beside him, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. Horus wore the white fatigues of the Luna Wolves and, judging by the state of the tank top under the half-zipped jacket, he had been training. He looked good in it – masculine, confident. Fulgrim briefly closed his eyes and inhaled the tinge of sweat now flitting through the air. Irresistable, he thought, and a smile unfurled around his perfect lips.
“What are you grinning about?” Horus inquired in response to Fulgrim's secretive smile, shattering his brother's pleasant mental images.
Fulgrim slowly opened his eyes and gazed at him for a long moment. Then he uncurled his slender frame from the windowsill and rose. Fulgrim was tall, only their brother Curze was taller – and Sanguinius, if you counted the wings – and Horus had to tilt his head to look the phoenician in the eyes. Horus was shorter and broader, more solid of stature and thicker of limb. It was most obvious now – Fulgrim in his elegant robes of silk and shimmering sequins which complimented his narrow waist; Horus in his rumpled fatigues which accentuated his bulky figure.
“I missed you,” Fulgrim said softly as he cupped Horus' broad jaw with both hands. The pale fingers were slender and almost without callouses. “I have not seen you since---.”
“Fulgrim,” Horus interrupted, pulling away from his brother's gentle touch. “I can't,” he protested and brought up a hand as if to ward him away. “And they are too close by.”
Fulgrim glanced across the reading room to where their daughters still sat listening. Grass had replaced the parquetry, smattered with daisies. The small furniture the girls sat on now resembled a low tree trunk as the Emperor sat cross-legged beside them in the grass. He spoke still, but the book laid forgotten next to him. Beyond them stretched a vale and within it stood a pristine white tower bathed in sunlight. A passing Custodes' armour turned into the dull steel of a knight as he passed through. All four of them sat with their backs towards the primarchs.
“They are no longer here,” Fulgrim concluded and turned back to Horus. “You cannot, or you should not?” He lightly stroked his brother's cheek. It was rough with stubble.
“Should not,” Horus admitted, breaking his gaze away to stare out of the window beside them. He tried not to think of Fulgrim's comforting touch. Through the window he saw the Himalazian plateau as it had once been, long ago. A harsh tundra dotted with wild flowers and ringed by a wall of mountains high as the heavens. The sun was setting behind no longer existing peaks. Horus knew it was not a true window but a glimpse into one of their father's memories of Terra. The Inner Halls had many such views – the past, the future, often it was not clear. All were beautiful vistas and most Horus knew not from where.
“But what do you want?” Fulgrim whispered in his ear, his warm breath brushing against Horus' neck, his hands resting on Horus' hips.
When Horus turned his head to look at his brother once more, their noses briefly touched; so close Fulgrim stood. His proximity stirred half-forgotten feelings in the pit of Horus' stomach. He had been so busy the past years – Athamyra and their little girl had taken up all the time he had free from the Crusades. His heart cringed when he realised he had not even stopped and thought about Fulgrim. Had not even missed him until now. He felt suddenly guilty for that – his brother had no one, he had to raise Lucrece all alone. Horus did not know what had happened, but he had heard things – softly spoken rumours, whispers of suicide. He could not fantom why. Lucrece was a sweet girl and Fulgrim devoted all his time to her.
“I am sorry I was not there when...” Horus hesitated momentarily, not something that happened often. “When it happened.”
Fulgrim's pleasant expression slowly broke with grief and Horus glanced away as it cracked, unable to face the discomfort. He hugged his brother somewhat awkwardly. “I am sorry,” he said again.
Fulgrim returned the embrace and closed his eyes once more while he buried his nose in Horus' neck. Though moist shimmered under the long lashes, a pleased little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Horus held Fulgrim firmly, pretending not to notice his wandering hands. However, when they disappeared into his fatigues he balked. “Fulgrim, stop,” Horus objected as he stepped backwards, his back hitting the wall. “The tale might finish soon.” A weak excuse.
“It will not, they are barely half way,” Fulgrim returned.
Curses on his knowledge of Pan-European fairytales. “What if something comes up unexpectedly?” Horus tried when Fulgrim would not let go.
“Father can leave the girls with Ferrus if he must attend urgent matters.” Fulgrim waylaid Horus' comment effortlessly as he embraced him more intimately, his slender arms slipping around his brother's hips.
“Athamyra,” Horus protested.
“She need not know,” Fulgrim whispered in his ear. A groan escaped Horus despite himself when his brother pressed his hand against the front of his fatigue pants. “I missed that, too, you know,” Fulgrim continued, grabbing Horus' budding erection through the cloth of his pants as he nipped at the skin of Horus' neck.
“I will not lie to her,” Horus managed to reply; his breathing had dropped. “I won't---.”
Fulgrim pressed a finger against Horus' lips. “If she inquires if you have slept with another, you can truthfully tell her no,” he said in between trailing kisses along Horus' shoulder and pushing his jacket off. “For you already had me before her, and you have thus not had anyone new.”
Horus did not want his brother to make silver-tongued sense. He wanted to... walk away? He wasn't sure any more – had he ever been?
Fulgrim slipped his hands under the waistbands of Horus' pants and underwear, slowly pushing them down across the sharp angles of his hips as he sank onto his haunches. Fulgrim licked his lips at the sight revealed to him and placed kisses down the steel expanse of Horus' abdomen while he took his brother in hand.
Horus moaned when Fulgrim closed his lips around him, almost immediately reaching for his head and pushing deeper, unable to protest. Liquid pleasure raced through his body, the feeling of being taken in so far almost overwhelming after such a long time. It was always a little precarious with Athamyra – she was mortal, and he feared accidentally hurting her.
“Fulgrim,” Horus groaned, roughly pulling him closer as his fingers tangled into the soft, white hair.
Fulgrim made content noises, his nails digging small crescents into Horus' bare hips.
Horus leaned against the wall, his head back and his eyes closed as he savoured the pleasure send roaring through his body by Fulgrim's expert touches. When it suddenly stopped and the warm wetness of his brother's mouth and throat left him he almost screamed in frustration.
Fulgrim rose and reclined into the windowsill before Horus could grab him, stretching his long frame as he shrugged his robes from his shoulders. The delicate cloth fell open, bunching up at his elbows and slipping from his torso to reveal the pearly skin underneath. He spread his long legs languidly, one foot up against the windowsill, the other drawing lazy circles on the floor as he beckoned almost coyly, his white hair spilling across his shoulders and partially in front of his face in perfect tumbling curls.
Horus needn't be asked twice. He stepped foreward and grasped Fulgrim's hips. His skin was pale and soft like a maiden's; only when Horus' pressed his fingertips harder into the supple flesh did he feel the steel of muscle. He leaned over Fulgrim and gently brushed the curtain of white hair aside, his free hand sliding towards his brother's loins. Even their his hair was only faintly darker. Fulgrim whimpered and pressed up into his grasp when Horus took him in hand.
“Beg for it,” Horus instructed hoarsely as he cupped his jaw, the white locks partially falling back.
Fulgrim whimpered and arched towards him, thrusting into Horus' hand as he wrapped an arm around Horus' thick neck, the other reaching to Horus' loins. “Fuck me, Horus,” Fulgrim pleaded, his breath quick and shallow.
“How much do you want it?” Horus asked as he held Fulgrim, tugging slow and firmly.
“A lot,” Fulgrim managed with a moan. “I need to feel you, want you to pound me until I am sore.”
Horus grinned, his brother's large, needy eyes and soft features inflaming his desire. “Show me.”
Fulgrim put two fingers in his mouth and licked them seductively, drawing a groan from Horus at the memory, and reminding him of his own burning need. Fulgrim then reached down and slowly pressed the tips of his fingers into himself. Horus let go of Fulgrim and roughly pulled Fulgrim's thighs further apart.
Fulgrim whimpered as he moved the tips of his fingers in and out, tilting his hips towards Horus, before suddenly thrusting them in entirely. He moaned and bucked against his own hand. “Horus...”
“I see,” Horus rumbled as he leaned over Fulgrim once more. The way Fulgrim bit his lower lip made it impossible for Horus to deny him any longer. He grasped Fulgrim's thigh with one hand and took himself in hand with the other. It took less than a heartbeat, the next he thrust in, burying himself in his brother's welcoming embrace to the hilt in one sharp stroke.
A squeel that turned into a high pitched moan tore itself from Fulgrim's lips as he clung to his brother's neck and bucked towards him, his other arm clamping around Horus' back with all the inhuman strength afforded to him.
Horus groaned as Fulgrim's insides clenched around him. He pulled out with effort only to thrust back in, wrangling moans from both of them. He braced himself on Fulgrim's hip with his left hand, his right hand leaned against the glass as he set a hard pace. It would leave Fulgrim sore from both the intrusion and the marble windowsill beneath them, but Horus knew he wanted that. And, if he was honest, he liked leaving bruises of their fucking on the pearly skin.
When Fulgrim tried to put his legs around Horus' waist, Horus let go of his hip and grasped his thigh, spreading it wide as the other hooked around his waist.
Within moments, they both lost themselves in the pleasure of the act. Fulgrim's mind was blank safe for that, finally, Horus was taking him again. It was always good with Ferrus, but when Horus fucked him there was an edge of raw dominance to it that was incredibly intoxicating. Fulgrim moaned and arched against Horus when release washed over him, hot and strong. At Fulgrim's release and sudden tightening Horus moaned and thrust harder, pushing deep as he brought himself release.
Panting heavily he looked down at the fluids Fulgrim had spilled between them. “You always make such a mess,” Horus chuckled as he pressed a kiss to Fulgrim's lips.
“Your fault,” Fulgrim purred, and then returned the kiss. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Horus returned.
They stayed together for a long moment, but then Horus rose and broke the embrace. He glanced about quickly; but all was as it had been before – the tale yet carried on.
Horus sighed in relief, then groaned in pain as a studden headache stabbed through his head. Judging by the choked noises Fulgrim was making, he felt it too. Horus collapsed onto his knees, breathing heavily as he pressed his palms against his temples. His head felt as if it was going to explode soon.
+ Get out. +