[NSFW] An Unplanned Alliance, Chapter X: A Memest Proposal [MEME/SHITPOST]

    Guilliman was tired.
    Guilliman was always tired.
    It was difficult not to be, afterall, considering that his body had never recovered its ability to sleep, outside of psyker-induced temporary comas, but those were never particularly restful. He did have one respite from his exhaustion, however; Yvraine could reach out and touch his mind with hers to permit him true comfort and relaxation, assuming of course that she was in a good mood and willing to cooperate with him, instead of acting like a hellish cross between a highborn noblewoman and a housecat.
    This was one of those times.
    Guilliman’s frankly shockingly large battlefleet had penetrated deep within her galactic sector, filling her to the brim with the will of the Imperium. Her facial expression was lewd and feral, her nails dug deep into his shoulders and back. His mind was mingling with hers, and he felt both bodies from both perspectives. Moments like this would cause Guilliman pause, as they always disrupted his grounded worldview, common among non-psykers. Just like teleporting forced Guilliman’s consciousness to connect with the grander consciousness of the Warp, so too did experiencing Yvraine’s perspective of his massive, meaty monument to man.
    Guilliman loved the way she rode him, her movements filled with enthusiasm and a barely contained animalistic desire to be filled with his gene-seed. She was an intense being, far more intense than his tired old soul ever could be, save for in the heated fires of war. He watched her voluminous soulstones bounce and ripple as she nearly launched herself up off his towering power sword, her thick, soft, pale-skinned thighs exerting enough force to break a space marine’s neck.
    His hands were on her hips, so massive that his fingertips brushed against one another, more passengers on the ride than a motive force of their own. He felt a rolling wave of ecstasy as she came hard, her core musculature seizing and flexing uncontrollably, her womanhood squeezing against his cock so forcefully that a lesser man might fear it’d become stuck within her. She slid her hips all the way down his shaft in order to better experience his girth within her, but she came to a rest at the bottom, her face pressed against his broad chest and tears of pleasure running down her cheeks.
    Guilliman had no time for this respite. He lifted her slightly, causing the Aeldari to let out a diminutive squeak of surprise, and then he slid her back down. Guilliman repeated this action, lifting her higher and pulling her back down faster with each stroke, until he was using her as little more than a masturbatory aid, her powerful psyker mind simply a guest within her body which now belonged entirely to the Avenging Son’s sexual whims.
    Guilliman did not last long under his own self-induced onslaught, and his volcano cannon fired, the barrel nearly pressed against the entrance to Yvraine’s womb. Guilliman’s mind flashed with white-hot pleasure and he pulled the Herald of Ynnead into a hug as tight as he could make it without harming her, pressing their bodies together in a desperate, primal attempt to become one with her. He felt her arms and thighs tighten as she reciprocated, yet neither felt close enough to the other, even as his potent emissions inseminated her.
    They sat like this for some time, even after their world-shattering mutual orgasm subsided. Guilliman spoke first, “Yvraine,” he said, his voice hoarse and raspy from screaming her name, his left hand sliding over to the small box concealed on the table beside his leisure seat, “You are my Astronomicon, the light of my life…” Yvraine, despite having her eyes tightly shut, seemed to know where this was going, and she began furiously kissing his chest and neck.
    “I would ask you to promise me your lov-” Guilliman was cut off by a synthesized voice emanating from an array of concealed voxmitters Rogal Dorn had installed in his office on Terra ten millennia ago, “LORD COMMANDER ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN PLEASE REPORT TO BELISARIUS CAWL’S LABORATORIES IMMEDIATELY!” Guilliman growled with the fury of a dozen nuclear warheads, and despite Yvraine’s vocal (and psychically projected) protests, he removed her from his thunder hammer and began getting dressed, swearing gruffly under his breath the whole time.
    “Stay here,” Guilliman said to her, his heart fluttering as she stretched and then curled up in his leisure seat, “I’ll return shortly.” Yvraine nodded silently, looking up at him through heavily lidded fuck-me eyes. Damn her. Damn that irresistible gaze, Guilliman thought, his Hand of Dominion powering on within his toga. He paused at the door, for a moment seeming as though he was about to tear off his clothes and ravish her again, but much to Yvraine’s disappointment, Guilliman left for the lift down to Cawl’s private offices hidden deep within the Himalazians.
….
    Guilliman’s enhanced eyesight strained within the perfect dark of the lift. This toaster-romancer had best have a good reason for summoning me, Guilliman thought as the lift doors opened. There was not much more light within Cawl’s office than within the lift, but to the transhuman eyes of a Primarch, “not much” was more than enough.
    He wandered within, seeing no sign of Cawl, nor any other Mechanicus personnel. “CAWL!” He roared, “Where are you? I was within a moment of great import when you so crassly interru-”
    Guilliman was cut off by the mechanically emitted voice of Belisarius Cawl, coming from a nearby workbench, spoke with power, “Silence, Guilliman! I am by the work bench” The primarch looked around before approaching the workbench closest to the epicenter of the Mechanicus researcher’s voice, empty save for a single pickle and a screwdriver, as he said, “Is this some sort of childish game, Cawl? Are you hidden from my eyes, that you might attempt to ‘extract my gene-seed’ again?”
    Cawl responded, his voice filled with mirth, “Flip the pickle over Guilliman!” Guilliman’s eyes narrowed as his hand slowly reached for the screwdriver, and he said, “What’s going to happen, am I going to be placed in another stasis field? Is this another elaborate scheme to perform one of your damnable ‘penis inspection days’?”
    “Flip the pickle over, Lord Commander! I assure you the outcome is of utmost importance,” Cawl’s voice replied. Guilliman hesitantly did so, and saw that Cawl’s face was embedded into the underside of the pickle. “I turned myself into a pickle, Roboute! I’m Pickle Cawl!”
    Guilliman immediately turned on his heel and stormed back to the elevator, his mind filled with fury and a burning desire to fuck his frustrations out into Yvraine’s tight, well-lubricated pussy.